Blog 3: Argentina, Puerto Iguazu - Salta
“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeing
new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”
Marcel Proust
Finally,
the time had come to move away from civilisation and experience South America´s
epic nature. However, what we did not realise in the excitement and
anticipation of the Iguazu Falls, was that it would encompass some hideous
aspects of humanity.
In
order to get to Puerto Iguazu, we had to stop off in Concordia, and as there
was nothing to see or do, we waited out the seven hours at the bus station,
with beer, snacks and the six month card championship progressing nicely. We
kept bumping into this girl from the US, who decided to orate The Brief History of Herself and her accompanying
opinions within the hour, including the controversial statement that “the best
food in the world is the cuisine of the U.S.A”. Which had the desired effect, and left us
gasping for bullsh*t-free air. She was tremendously loud and self-assured and
spoke at the tempo of Speedy Gonzalez, and at this point in time we hoped that
the friendship would go no further. We also met a lovely trio of Norwegians,
who seemed to be of the relaxed and more humble kind, and I hoped to see more
of them.
There
is the old lesson of “be careful what you wish for” to be drawn from the events
that followed. The bus journey that began hereafter was the most comfortable of
my life. We were like school children on an excited school trip. The giant sofa
seats pulled out into beds, with blankets and pillows, the food was good, with
air conditioning and films and even tiny tasty bottles of wine to make sure
that you doze off into that peaceful sleep to pass the time. Only to awake into
every traveller´s nightmare: our big bags were stolen.
Prior
to boarding the bus we gave our big bags in to be stored with the rest of the
luggage, and received our tickets for them and all. As we stepped off, they
were simply not there. Yes, they were gone, irrefutably gone with the wind like
Scarlet O´Hara´s true love. Though try to refute it we did. The staff of the
bus company (Via Bariloche – in case
you ever want to know who not to travel with), pretended particularly poorly to
care as they went to discuss it with the company representatives at the bus
station, before driving away three minutes later without another word and
leaving us to be shoed away from the bay area by the staff there. One of the
Norwegians had also had her bag stolen and we therefore spent the next few days
with her and her friends, connected through our misfortune. Every single item
you worked twelve hour shifts for, your parents worked their shifts for, your
sister or brother gave you, you eliminated thoughtfully for weeks during the
packing process runs through your mind. You imagine yourself without it. You
start to prioritise, pants, socks, toothbrush, malaria pills, contraceptives,
Italian handmade camera tripods… And the thought occurs that none the less,
these are things and things alone. Inanimate objects. Truthfully you take the
moment to be thankful for your health, because this moment sadness is nothing
compared to that.
It is
important to understand that, especially when your reasons of sadness seem to be
ceaselessly increasing. Of course the three of us together with the man power
and higher standard of Spanish of the other two Norwegians attempted to
confront the organization. We were sent back and forth between booths for a
couple of hours, told to come back in two hours, then again told to come back at
eight in the evening, then the next day. The next day only to be told that
there is nothing the company can do without a Police certificate. The Police
was like the personifying force of one of Bill Hicks´ dark satirical jokes. The
whole time we were at the Police station the "officers" seemed to be
suppressing their laughter. I do not think that they realise that the entire
West is laughing at what they claim to call a Police force. This is said not
with spite but with dejected honesty.
The room had three large old wooden desks against the
walls, proud pictures of Argentina´s landmarks and animals on the crumbling
walls, a shelf with stamps and random artifacts and a computer dating back to
the machine´s very first spurt of distribution. A young boy without uniform
spoke to us through Google Translate,
asking us to type in what happened and the item and value of everything that
was stolen. The officers stood behind him looking at each other with their
smirks turning into laughter as our lists grew in front of their eyes.
Eventually the list was taken from the translator and pasted into a document
stating “we lost our bags, which contained…” There had clearly been a
misunderstanding. We have come to the Police because our bags were stolen, and
the company must be stated in order to accept responsibility. However, with a
conclusive stamp upon the “document”, which also included rather informal
spelling corrections in pen, the Police officers teamed up authoritatively
stating that that is all they can do, and commanded us out of the office. Via Bariloche then sent this piece of
paper to their Head Office in Buenos Aires, without taking any of our names or
contact details, and of course that is the last anyone ever heard of the
matter. In retrospect, the moment when one of these people involved in the
mystery of our vanished bags pointed at our tickets for the luggage, and with a
serious and firm expression proclaimed that “these are very important, you must
keep hold of this no matter what!” is a South America comedy classic.
Apparently this was all just a big joke, because when
we got to the hostel our American friend was waiting for us to shower us in
more hectic cataract speeches spiraling in on herself. She was incredibly angry
and therefore even louder, because her charger had been taken out of her bag
whilst travelling the same route but with a different bus company. Sometimes
the company is paid a share of the profit to let somebody into the luggage
compartment throughout the journey and look through the bags, taking only what
is valuable. She did quiet down a little after we eventually managed to get a
word in and told her that our whole big bags were stolen.
We could not make
plans to see the falls for days because we had to keep going back to the
station, and we could not start replacing our things until the theft had been
confirmed. So the people involved truly wasted our time as much as they could.
The thing that struck me the most was the inhumanity, nobody cared that a
person was stranded in a foreign country with nothing but the clothes on their
back. It was an inconvenience and the boredom and disdain showed in their
faces. The sad truth that emerges is that poverty and social discontent simply
cannot be expected to breed love and kindness. However there was a young
Argentinian girl working at the station that took an interest and tried to help
us as much as she could, she had had her bag taken in the past and possessed
compassion and kindheartedness, and though there was nothing she could do it
meant so much to me that there was one person that cared and that did not look
on us as stupid rich tourists who probably deserve it for being so rich. I do
not mind that our things are gone as much as mind the inhumanity. But it is important
to distinguish that we only lost things, and the losses that may lead somebody
to become a thief may be far greater.
When we set out on our travels through South America
we left behind many comforts, and it was a strange sensation at first to carry ones
house on ones back. The feeling of having these few simple comforts such as
clean clothes, shampoo, nail clippers and books taken away from you though
humbling is exceedingly depressing. Our hectic American friend turned out to be
a savior. She lent me a magical pink princess dress (always good to try
something new), as well as socks, and shampoo (again, good to try something new…
just kidding). It was the best present imaginable after a sticky twenty hour
bus journey. The few days we saw her after that I listened with much more
patience and kindness to her, and considered that travelling on your own might
have a similar effect on anyone.
Puertu Iguazu is the worst place I have been on our
travels. The town exists purely as a tourist hub for travellers on their way to
the Falls and everything operates surrounding this fact. And when you get to
the actual Iguazu Falls this merely intensifies. The place is like a city of
tourists, permanently in your face are flashing faces covered up by cameras.
There are paths that lead right up to the falls, so you can get that "selfie" ready for Facebook of “this is me at the Devils Throat” and “here´s me
getting splashed by the falls!”. It is such a sad thing to see nature so epic
and yet so tamed and controlled by humans, it feels like we are bluntly mocking
nature. There seemed to be a lot of people there for the purpose of the "selfie" rather than the experience itself,
taking that photo without even one look near the falls. Or do you have to do
that in order to be able to enjoy the experience? Is that what the experience
of this and many other travel highlights has become? Are you doing this or
doing anything at all for the experience itself or are you doing it for other
people? It was difficult to look past this
and try to enjoy what I am seeing, whilst pushing through the crowds, and
whilst trying to ignore the constant attention seeking poses of the posers and
the attention seeking shouts of salespeople. But once you look into the Devils
throat, you find that you cannot look away, you stare into the abyss and it
reminds you that this is nature, and this is big and powerful and that you “are
only really very small and life goes on within you and without you”*. You would not
even appear as a speck of dust if you fell down the throat; truly you are nothing
to it. So gladly I think that the showing off "selfie" is not the only reason the place is full of us tourists, I
think it is so beautiful and majestic and intimidating and vast and
inconceivable that you must see it to believe it.
Britain´s nature, it´s calm countryside and fields and
warm homes during the rain are beautiful and irreplaceable to me, but the falls
were the first time I had experienced nature in so grand a magnitude, and it
was spectacular. However as we left, having had a few days to come to terms
with the idea of being bag-less, the concept seeped in deeper and became sadder
than ever as we stepped onto a twenty four hour bus with nothing but three
plastic bags and feigned, faint smiles.
The time we spent in Salta was long and largely
unremarkable. The highlight was going up the mountain in the cable cart, which
gave a striking overview of the city, it is extraordinarily beautiful. We also
went for dinner and drinks with our Norwegian friends and an especially kind
Israeli traveler we met on the way to Salta. We decided to go to a traditional Peña**. What we got was Peña Pandemónium.
The whole thing was completey
ridiculus and we spent hours in a complete confused frenzy, phisically unable to stop
laughing. It was insanity right from the start.
We were
lured in by a giant guitar the length of two or three Argentinians, and a bunch
of them inviting us in. It was a giant hall, with empty tables, a stage and a
huge black wall covered in star lights. We asked if others would come, to which
the waitor replied “Si, in about fifteen minutes this entire hall will be
filled with people.” Which seemed highly unlikely. Amidst all the tables was a table for two,
absurdly placed in the very cenre of the room, noticably far away from
the others. Some people did come, and the two-seater table was occupied by two
old ladies, who ate an unnatural quantity of meat with concentrated pleasure and precision.
The next remarkable thing was the food. The steak was the size of a small
child. Then, the music and the dancing began. It was completely exagerated, the
whole place was turning into a parody of itself! The dancers swooshed by the
tables, and the singers joked around for ten minute intervals, and despite not
understanding anything they were saying, we found it all even much funnier than
any of the locals. Then the intense strangeness began. The lights were dimmed
and two projection screens appeared, one playing football, and the other displaying
various photographs of an extremely popular man posing with families and what
appeared to be celebrities, the strange thing is that this went on for an
incredibly long time. Then for the grand finale, our Israeli friend danced the traditional dance with
the dancers. And finally, they played Andrea Bocelli’s Time to Say Goodbye, whilst projecting a picture of the Pope onto
the walls. Now it had got so weird
we were not even sure that we were laughing anymore. It was three hours into
the show, and we did not know what their next move would be, or whether we
could take it, or whether it might shatter any stability of mind that remained. So, rudely and disliked among the hissing and gasping glances of judgement that followed us out the
door we made for our escape. It felt like a fantasy land, as though we had climbed through the
giant guitar and ended up in where “we are all mad here.”***
We had a wonderful time with the Israeli and the
Norwegians, and I could not think of anyone I would rather share such a singular
experience with. Unfortunately we spent the rest of our time in Salta trying to
rearrange our budget and shopping for the essentials for the rest of the trip.
We hate shopping anyway, but these feelings also reached a new low. The hostel
owners were incredibly kind, always helping and accommodating us, we tried to
enjoy ourselves but the situation had changed the journey in terms of money and
time and placed new pressures on our relationship. The journey into Chile was
therefore the most difficult both emotionally and physically; however it was
also the most beautiful I will ever see with my eyes that changed here.
________________________________________________________________________
* Lyrics taken from "Within You, Without You" by The Beatles
** A Peña is a popular venue where food and drink are available alongside traditional music and dancing.
*** Mad Hatter's dialogue in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Caroll.
